


Under A New World's Sky

by astargatelover



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Glozelle and Prunaprismia are siblings, Miscarriage mention, because I adore that headcanon, important matters are discussed re: naming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 18:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astargatelover/pseuds/astargatelover
Summary: Glozelle and Prunaprismia rekindle their relationship.





	Under A New World's Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What is Right, What is Easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/648738) by [ncfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan). 



Even the stars looked different here.

Glozelle adjusted his grip on the makeshift spear he was holding as he tried to catch glimpses of the night sky through the thick canopy of leaves above him.

The actual stars looked the same, actually. White, glowing spots above. But they were arranged in ways completely different from New Telmar's firmament. There wasn't a single constellation Glozelle recognized. It made the feeling that this was not their old world that much more palpable.

Still, Glozelle was determined to make it their home. He spent a lot of time out at night lately, studying the sky and trying to learn how to use it for orientation. They would start exploring more of this island eventually, and they should be able to find their way back to their starting point by then.

Glozelle also felt that he needed some time alone to think. He threw a glance back in the direction of the cave they had come through, and which they were using as a temporary shelter. Their group counted just under 50 people now, and still new ones were coming through every day. Time seemed to pass differently here than it did in New Telmar - Narnia, Glozelle corrected himself. Narnia. Under King Caspian X the land was to have its old name back. Moments like this made him glad he hadn't remained at court, where he would've had to try harder not to slip up.

Glozelle weighed his weapon in his hand. He really hoped someone with the sense to bring some supplies would join them soon.

They had made him their leader. They hadn't asked him if he wanted to be. No one had formally declared him to be in charge, either, but everyone looked to him for direction. His words were treated like orders, and no one questioned them.

Maybe it was because he had been a very high-ranking officer in the army, and that had given him an air of authority. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had been the first to speak on that day in the courtyard, in front of the great lion. As if little hesitancy to go to this new world meant that he knew any more about it than the rest of them.

Glozelle was used to leading. He was not used to leading without anyone above him in the hierarchy. Without commands to pass on or orders about what to do, he felt a little lost. But the well-being of his people had always been a top priority for him even back when he was a soldier, and he was not going to let it become any different now. They were looking to him to keep them safe, so that was what he would do. The weight of responsibility felt heavy on his shoulders, but he didn't let it bend his spine during the day. He tried to lead by example, being brave and confident.

Only at night, out here, did he stop trying to keep his uncertainty and doubt from showing on his face. If something happened to any of them... He didn't know how, or indeed if, he could forgive himself.

Glozelle scratched the cut at his eye absent-mindedly. When he noticed what he was doing he took his hand away from his face and held it into the moonlight, trying to see if there was blood on it. At this point he was wondering if the wound would scar. It was not deep and had been treated promptly, so there was no reason for it not to heal all the way. But it had been a few weeks now since he had received it, and yet it hurt and itched. Glozelle had a hard time not picking at it. Still, he thought, if he had not reacted as quickly as he had on that battlefield, he would likely have lost the entire eye. A scar seemed a small price to pay in comparison.

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the bushes behind him. Glozelle whirled around, spear held at the ready.

“Who's there?”, he exclaimed. “Show yourselves!“

There was another rustle, branches were pushed apart and... his sister stepped out onto the clearing, holding her baby in her arms.

“Pru!”, he hissed and took his weapon down. “My goodness, you scared me.“

“So the great General Glozelle does still get scared, after all?”, she asked quietly with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk.

He scowled at her in return. “I told you not to call me that”, he replied. He'd come to this island because he wanted a fresh start, a life where he wasn't so defined by a rank he wasn't even sure he'd earned. Besides, they had to establish an almost whole new society here, and Glozelle wasn't keen on starting with a military, especially not when there were no enemy nations anywhere in sight.

“You're the General to them”, his sister said lightly. “You won't get them to stop calling you that completely.“

“I certainly won't if you won't stop being such a bad example”, Glozelle muttered. Then he sighed and changed the subject: “You need to be more careful. I could've hurt you!”

“Sorry”, she mumbled and looked down at the ground, not sounding nearly as sorry as he thought she should be. “I wasn't expecting you out here.”

Glozelle sighed. “I should be the least of your worries. What are you doing out of the cave at night? It isn't safe alone.”

“I could ask you the same thing”, Prunaprismia replied.

Glozelle bristled at that. “That's different!”

She looked at him like she wanted to disagree, but then simply shook her head. “He was being fussy”, she answered his question instead, gently rocking her small son back and forth. “I didn't want him to wake everyone again.”

Glozelle took a look at his mewling nephew and nodded. He didn't know a lot about babies, but even he was aware that the little one was way too young to be expected to sleep through the night.

“I just wanted to take him outside for a moment”, Prunaprismia continued. “I wasn't going to go far.”

“You better weren't”, Glozelle growled. _“I'd have been sick with worry”_ , he added in his head, but didn't say out loud.

Prunaprismia wrinkled her nose at him, huffed and then walked past him.

“Where are you going?”, he asked in slight alarm.

“Down to the water”, she replied without even turning around.

“I just told you it isn't safe!”, he hissed and hurried after her.

“No, you told me it isn't safe _alone_ ”, she corrected him. “It's fine if I've got you with me, right?”

“But...”, Glozelle stammered and looked back towards the cave entrance.

“What?”, Prunaprismia asked. “Do you think the guards you've selected are not capable?”

_“They let you out”_ , Glozelle thought grimly. But he knew three things: One, his sister could be supremely convincing. Two, she could be even more supremely stubborn. And three, if something happened to anyone in that cave he might not be able to forgive himself. But if something happened to Pru or her baby he definitely wouldn't be able to. So he kept quiet and followed her out of the woods, onto the expanse of sand in front of the water.

The view here was breathtaking, the sky no longer being obscured by trees. For a few long moments Glozelle and Prunaprismia just stood there, neither saying anything. The only sounds to be heard were the lapping of the waves against the shore and the soft whining of the baby, and that was turning more and more quiet.

When the little one had finally stopped complaining, Prunaprismia sighed, turned to Glozelle and held her arms out to him.

“Would you take him for a moment?”

The former general's eyes widened and he cast a look at the spear in his hand.

“Come on”, his sister said softly and glanced towards the edge of the forest. “Do you really believe something will attack us out here? We haven't even found any big animals yet.”

Glozelle frowned at her, thinking: _“That doesn't mean there aren't any around.”_ He eyed the woods suspiciously.

“You're an experienced lookout“, Prunaprismia added. “And there is a good distance between us and the first trees. We will notice in time if anything comes towards us. I will take him back immediately, then.” She gave him an entreating look. “Please, Zelly.”

Glozelle grimaced. He still hadn't decided if he liked the fact that she had started using his childhood nickname again, or if he hated it. Still, he stabbed his spear into the sand and held his arms out towards her. “Alright.”

Prunaprismia gave him a thankful smile and placed her baby in his care, adjusting his pose here and there. Glozelle hadn't quite perfected holding the little one, but he was getting there.

When Prunaprismia was confident that he would not drop her son - and, more importantly, when Glozelle was; he was more worried there than she was - she took her shoes off and walked closer to the water, just close enough for her ankles to get wet.

Glozelle watched her carefully, but when it became apparent to him that she would go no further, he relaxed a little. She was probably right; with how out in the open they were here, they would notice any threat coming in time.

Glozelle turned his attention to the bundle in his arms. His nephew looked up at him with big eyes, and started tugging at his beard. He seemed to really like doing that; he tried to every time someone got him close enough to his uncle's face.

Glozelle smiled a little and gently said: “Hey, little guy.”

The baby gurgled in response.

Glozelle's smile widened. A pleasant warmth spread throughout his chest and belly. He loved this little boy with a fierceness he never had imagined possible.

During his sister's pregnancy there had been no room for him to feel happiness. So much had hinged on its outcome.

The wait for the birth had been anxious. Glozelle had grown more and more agitated the nearer the day came. If the child was not healthy or a girl, who knew what Miraz would do. To his sister. To the child. Glozelle had been sick with worry, even just in anticipation.

And if it was a healthy boy, well... With shame Glozelle thought back on the assassination attempt on Prince Caspian.

There had been so much going on after that that he hadn't gotten to really meet his nephew until they'd come to this island. It was here that he'd held him for the first time. He had been overwhelmed with how much love he could feel for such a small human. He'd felt very glad, and still did, that they'd all come here together.

Back in New Telmar he hadn't had much to do with his sister. As general of the armies he was often away from the capital, and when Miraz did call him back it was not for family reunions.

In growing up, brother and sister had grown apart. They hadn't been particularly close even as children, but as adults they barely knew each other.

Glozelle strongly suspected that quite a lot of people at the castle were not even aware of their relation. He had been the brother of the Lord Protector's wife, of the queen for a short while, but it hadn't mattered to anyone. That he was the general had been the only thing that did.

After Prunaprismia spoke up in the courtyard, announcing that she, too, would go to their new-old world, Glozelle had not for a moment believed that it was because of him. She wasn't joining him because he was her brother. She simply wanted a new start, just like he did.

Yet Glozelle could not say that he minded her coming with him. She was family and he had always been fond of her, no matter how little they saw each other.

On the island it seemed they were trying to make up for the years of little contact. They found themselves seeking each other's company, though neither was able to put into words the reason why. At first they hadn't quite known what to say to each other. They really were more like distant acquaintances than siblings, and Glozelle had found himself saddened by the fact.

The baby had helped them finally bridge the gap between them. There was one night when he would not stop crying. Nothing could calm him. They had run out of things to try. The mood in the cave had been unbearably agitated, and Prunaprismia herself had been so, so tired. She had been walking back and forth, holding the child this way and that, trying to make him comfortable, for hours. All she had wanted to do was lie down. In a moment of desperation she had handed the boy to her brother, who was standing closest. And in a matter of moments the crying had stopped.

Glozelle had stood there stiffly at first, the most surprised of the entire group, the rest of which had stared at him in total bafflement. Then he had started gently rocking the baby back and forth and making shushing noises at him. It hadn't been long before he'd fallen asleep. The little one had apparently taken a liking to his uncle. From then on, when nothing else would calm him Prunaprismia would hand her son to Glozelle, and that usually worked.

They got to talking about him. About how his development was coming along, how curious he was and where to keep him during the day. Prunaprismia refused to spend all her time just sitting in the cave, so they had worked on turning a piece of cloth into a suitable sling for the young one to be carried in. Glozelle had felt pretty useless at it if he was honest, but Prunaprismia had insisted that she appreciated his help. She had told him how much she had been looking forward to this baby for years, and that she loved him more than anything and would never let any harm come to him. It was also then that she'd told him that he was not her first child. She had been pregnant twice before, but lost both of those children so early that the pregnancy had not even been officially announced yet. She'd said there'd been a lot of blood and terrible cramps, and how scared she had been of that happening a third time.

Glozelle had been shocked that he hadn't known. He was her brother; how had no one thought it important to tell him these things?!

Her voice had taken on a slight tremor as she told him this, and when he'd noticed the wet sheen in her eyes as well, he'd put his arms around her. He had no idea what words to say to console her, but hugs were a comforting thing, weren't they? Prunaprismia had buried her head in his shoulder and squeezed him tightly. They'd only parted when the little one next to them squawked, demanding to be fed. Prunaprismia had wiped her eyes and smiled thankfully at her brother. Glozelle had felt closer to her after that.

One time they had talked about Caspian. Glozelle could not quite remember how the topic had come up. Their conversation had been about the storage and distribution of the food they gathered, at first. If an outsider asked anyone on this island who their leader was, they would name the former general without hesitation, Glozelle knew this. But in truth he considered Prunaprismia to be in charge just as much. He was easily able to lead an army; it was second nature to him. But his sister could actually lead _people_. She knew how to encourage and inspire, how to stifle disputes before they had even fully formed, and she seemed to possess the talent of always finding the right words when addressing their people. She was determined and resourceful and brave and he was very glad to have her by his side, and to be able to see this side of her as he probably never would have had they stayed in their old home.

Perhaps she had asked him how he thought Caspian was holding up as king. No matter how their conversation had turned to him, Prunaprismia had eventually told her brother that she regretted not having been closer to the boy. She had been more than ready to raise him like her own son after his parents had died, and Caspian had indeed loved her very much. Glozelle recalled the then-prince telling him not too long ago, though it felt like it had been a lifetime now, how much he was looking forward to the birth of his cousin. He had always enjoyed the thought of having a sibling, and he was happy to see his aunt so overjoyed. Glozelle had felt a pang in his stomach, then, and he was faring no better upon remembering it.

Miraz's coldness towards his nephew had kept Caspian and Prunaprismia's relationship from growing as close as both of them would have liked, and she'd confided in Glozelle that she missed the boy now. She wished she could have talked to him one last time before leaving.

She'd told Glozelle that she had nearly shot him, during the castle raid. He'd been threatening Miraz in their bedchambers. That was when she'd learned that her husband had killed his own brother. She would have very much liked to apologize to Caspian after the war was over, but she hadn't found an opportunity.

Glozelle had swallowed hard, and told her that he had tried to kill Caspian, too. That, that night when he disappeared, he had been running from him. He hadn't intended to say it, it had just slipped out somehow, but after it had, Glozelle felt no desire to take it back. He had simply kept talking, frantic, faster and faster, ending with how he hadn't wanted to do it, and how he'd never been able to work out how to tell Miraz “No”.

From the look on her face he'd thought she'd understood the meaning of that “never”, and that there'd been many times when he should have said “no”. Her expression had not been one of disgust or fear, however, as he might have worried had he had the opportunity to think about it; it had been one of deepest sympathy. It had been her turn to hug him, then.

Glozelle looked at her now, standing among the waves, holding her face into the breeze. She looked beautiful in the moonlight, the tiredness and tension he'd often glimpsed in the last few years of her marriage gone from her frame.

Glozelle pulled his nephew a little closer to his chest and covered him with one half of his vest. This island was warm even at night, but out here in the open the wind did feel rather cold. Just as he contemplated calling out to her and suggesting they go back to the cave, she walked back over to him of her own accord. She stroked her son's head with a smile, then looked away and sighed unhappily.

“I don't know what to call him”, she said so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

Glozelle looked to the ground and nodded. “You haven't come to terms with it?”

“No”, Prunaprismia replied. “And I don't think I ever will.“

Again, Glozelle nodded, not missing the undercurrent of anger in his sister's voice. He tried to say his next words gently: “What made Miraz a bad man was not his name.”

“I know “, Prunaprismia said, trying hard not to sound strained. “I know that. But I will _not_ let my son be named after a murderer!” She got louder as she said that last sentence, and the baby in Glozelle's arms whimpered softly.

Glozelle shushed and rocked him gently. The boy, understandably, did not like it when his mother got angry. He was too young to understand that she was not mad at him.

She stroked his head apologetically and he quickly calmed down again.

Glozelle avoided his sister's eyes. “I'm sorry”, he murmured.

Prunaprismia nodded and softly replied: “I know.”

Glozelle was referring to the fact that he hadn't told her what kind of man she was marrying years ago. He hadn't known how to bring it up, and he had also been scared to. And although Prunaprismia assured him that she fully forgave him, he still felt bad about it.

“What do you think?”, she asked.

Glozelle shrugged, as well as one can shrug who has his arms full of baby. “You know my opinion on the matter.”

His sister frowned and nodded, looking out to sea.

When she didn't say anything, just watched the waves breaking on the shore a few times, Glozelle went on: “There are a lot of boys and men called Miraz back at- where we came from. Not all of them are going to change their names. Nor do I think they should.”

He stepped a bit closer to her, so he wouldn't have to talk as loudly. “He was just a man, in the end. Lord knows not a good one, but a man. Not a monster. And his name is merely a name, not a curse.”

“I know”, Prunaprismia said, drawing her arms around herself. “And I understand why you wouldn't want everyone who bears that name to change it. I even agree with you. But this is different.”  She sighed and looked at her baby. “None of them are his son.”

Glozelle turned his gaze to the ground and nodded.

If Caspian hadn't taken back the throne no one would have minded if his nephew had taken after his father. It'd probably have been celebrated, even.

Glozelle was more than glad the boy would get to grow up without Miraz influencing him. His first instinct was to feel bad at thinking the child would be better off fatherless, but then, if the choice was between no father and Miraz... The former did indeed seem like the better.

He could not deny that he was also glad for selfish reasons. If the boy had grown up a prince, they probably would not have been close. Maybe he would have gotten to teach him the art of the sword once he was old enough, but since Glozelle would have most likely been the commander of the entire army, even that was doubtful. Surely the child would have called him “General”, though, instead of “Uncle Zelly”, as he would with the way things were shaping up now, and he severely disliked that idea.

So he was glad, very glad, that the boy was not a prince now. But that also brought problems with it.

Whereas it would have been praised before, now, after everything that had transpired, any similarity to his father, even if it was in looks only, was likely to earn him hostilities.

Caspian had revealed his uncle's regicide to the people after his coronation, and Glozelle himself had attested his claims. Suffice to say Miraz had not been a beloved monarch after that.

But if anyone threatened the small child he was holding for a relation that was no fault of his own, Glozelle would-

“I know you would never let any harm come to him”, Prunaprismia said, as if she could read his thoughts. “But what I'm worried about is not just outright attacks.” She put a hand on his arm, next to her baby.

“People are going to compare him to his father. I hope most of them will stop and see him as his own man someday, but some may never do that.”

She sighed and pushed a thin strand of hair out of the little one's face. “If they think they see even a little bit of Miraz in him they will treat him differently. They might not even intend to. It could be in the way they talk to him. If they trust him with tasks. If they're comfortable letting their own children play with him.” She closed her eyes, a sorrowful look coming over her face. “I'm noticing it already. How they look at him sometimes.” She turned her eyes back to the boy, then to her brother. “He will have it hard. His name does not need to be a constant reminder.”

Glozelle frowned and looked down at the baby. He seemed so unlike his father to him. But his sister was probably right; he would be compared, and then...

“Well”, he said, turning his attention back to Prunaprismia. “He is too young yet to know his own name. He will not mind if you change it.”

Her expression turned to one of surprise, and the slightest beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips.

Glozelle suspected that she had made her decision already, and would go through with it no matter what he said. But she'd feel better about it if he gave his approval.

“You will love him, no matter what his name is”, he continued, and gave her a warm smile. “And so will I.”

Prunaprismia positively beamed at him. Then she hugged him, carefully, from the side, so the baby was not caught between them. Glozelle thought it was strange how quickly she - well, both of them, really - had managed to let go of courtly demeanor, but he didn't mind it in the slightest. He had started to wonder how he had managed to go so long without embracing his sister.

When she had stepped back again, he asked: “So, what are you going to call him?”

Prunaprismia shrugged and said, almost sheepishly: “I don't know yet.”

Glozelle tilted his head to the side, then shrugged as well. “There's no hurry. I'm sure you'll think of something.”

“Yes”, Prunaprismia replied, looking at the sky contemplatively. “I'm sure I will.” Then she turned back to him and said: “Let us go back. I'm beginning to feel cold.”

Glozelle nodded and straightened his back before giving a look to the spear still stuck in the sand.

Prunaprismia sighed, but with amusement. “I'm guessing you will want to carry that back?”

Glozelle nodded. He was here to protect his family, after all.

“Fine.” Prunaprismia smiled and held her arms out. “Give him back to me. But be careful, don't wake him.”

Glozelle paused. Wake-? He looked down at his nephew, who was sleeping soundly, nestled in his arms. A soft “Oh!” escaped Glozelle's lips.

Prunaprismia managed to suppress most of her laugh.

“You know”, she said after her son had been handed back to her, when they were walking through the forest again. “The little one might not have a good father. But he has a great uncle.” She smiled fondly at her brother.

Glozelle smiled a little as well, but looked down at the ground. “His uncle has made many mistakes.”

“You don't need to be perfect”, Prunaprismia replied, and Glozelle couldn't tell if she meant people in general or him specifically. “If you recognize your mistakes and work to make up for them you're as good as any man. If not better.”

She graced him with another smile, which he tentatively returned. “I'm glad you'll be around for him.”

“Yeah”, he replied and looked at his nephew, then his sister with genuine happiness. “Me, too.”


End file.
